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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042616">Scarab</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77'>cat_77</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Buried Alive, F/M, Kidnapping, Presumed Dead, Recovery, Team as Family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:53:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was hard to hold onto hope when there hadn’t even been a spark of it for so long.  But a scarab was born of the worst crap out there and still managed to shine bright like the sun.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Scarab</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the "presumed dead" entry at hc_bingo.</p>
<hr/>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They were going to get called off the case and she knew it.  Well, called off the current one that they were making no headway on atop the one that they had already been told was about to officially become a cold case.  Six weeks was what they had been given on that one.  Six weeks before no more allowances were to be made.</p>
<p>Five weeks, four days, and twenty-two hours ago, Malcolm Bright had been declared missing.  Five weeks, four days, and twenty-two hours of watching the same grainy security footage again and again and again.  Five weeks, four days, and twenty-three hours since he didn’t answer his phone.  Since she went to his place to find the lock busted and absolutely nothing of import taken save for Bright himself.  Since she watched Gil shakily sit and refuse to cry in front of the team.  Since they had to call Jessica Whitly in case he was somehow with her despite his phone and wallet and everything else still being at the loft and the van he had been tossed into decidedly not of luxury quality.  Since the latest serial killer had left another tick mark on the tree planted on the boulevard next to the precinct.</p>
<p>He only went after the ones that had proved their intellect in some way to his convoluted standards.</p>
<p>They knew he kept his victims alive for a while.  Longer than they expected, really, when they tracked back the last seven that they knew about.  Each had gone missing, no trace to be had until they appeared in fresh and shallow graves in various small church cemeteries in a nearly twenty mile radius from where the first was found, with an expected time of death being roughly four to five weeks from when they were taken.  The only constants were chafing around the wrists as though they had been bound and the same meagre hints of remnants of bread in their stomachs.</p>
<p>By the Brass’s estimation, Malcolm had been dead for nearly two weeks.  She found this unacceptable, as did Mrs. Whitly herself, who refused to entertain even a memorial service until they had a body.  She entertained press conferences and ridiculous offers of rewards, but not memorials, not yet.</p>
<p>The station walked on eggshells around her.  Around JT and Gil too, but definitely around Dani herself.  The relationship between herself and the good Mr. Bright was an open secret.  He was a consultant and not directly tied to the rules of fraternization, but they still didn’t wave it in anyone’s faces.  Gil knew, of course.  So did JT because she wasn’t an ass.  Both knew just how far the relationship truly had gone, how far it had the potential to go, just how much it hurt that it might never reach those levels.</p>
<p>Five weeks, four days, twenty-two hours and fifteen minutes after Bright had been declared missing, she got a call.  Few people had her cell and fewer would dare to use it at the given time.  The name Jessica Whitly lit up across the screen and she swallowed heavily.  It was nearly time for the daily declaration that they had no leads, but that they would keep looking even if that looking turned to unofficially between their newer and supposedly more urgent cases.</p>
<p>As if there was anything more urgent.</p>
<p>“Dani?” Mrs. Whitly confirmed when she picked up.  “I tried calling Gil, but he didn’t answer.”</p>
<p>There was something different to her tone.  Fear, maybe.  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitly.  He’s currently down with Edrisa and you know how her office doesn’t always get the best reception,” she answered with as much of her professional calm as she could manage.  She had been asked to call her Jessica countless times, but didn’t feel like she had earned the right, especially now.  “I’m sorry to say that we-”</p>
<p>“The house alarm just went off,” Mrs. Whitly blurted.  There was no noise in the background and nothing from uniforms that they had stationed around the block without her knowledge in case it had been a hit on the Whitly’s versus the serial killer they thought it would be.  “Not this one, the one for the summer home,” came the clarification as if she knew what Dani was thinking.  She was Malcolm’s mother, so it was possible she could read people just as easily as he did.</p>
<p>Dani set her phone to speaker mode as she grabbed her jacket.  “But you are not there right now, correct?”</p>
<p>“No, now is not the time to vacation in the Hamptons,” Mrs. Whitly confirmed.  It was harsh, brittle, and followed immediately by, “I’m sorry, I do not mean to take it out on you.  It’s just these past few weeks…”</p>
<p>She accepted the apology for what it was worth and asked, “Is there anyone there who can check it out for you?  Do you have staff nearby?”</p>
<p>“That’s the thing.”  There was a pause and an audible swallow.  “The alarm went off but it was silenced.  By Malcolm’s personal code.”</p>
<p>She had to brace herself against the desk for a moment at that.  Words stuck in her throat with her breath but she found she didn’t need them anyway as someone else managed a stuttered, “What?”</p>
<p>The house in the Hamptons had a similar security set up to the one in the city proper.  Each household member had their own code, including trusted staff, and the system logged anytime it was triggered and who silenced it.  Malcolm had jokingly offered Dani a code of her own but said none of the family knew each other’s as there was no way he was taking the blame for Ainsley setting a pillow in the sitting room on fire again.</p>
<p>She looked up to see Gil there, braced against a nearby desk the same way she was braced against hers.  Next to him, JT already had his coat and his gun in place, keys in hand.  Beyond them, the bullpen as a whole had fallen silent.</p>
<p>“Malcolm’s code was just used at the house in the Hamptons.  I don’t know if it’s a break-in and they obtained this knowledge in some way or…” Jessica trailed off, no longer trying to hide the less than silent sobs.</p>
<p>Gil glanced to her and then to JT and received the same nods in return.  It was technically his call, just as technically she could take emergency PTO and drive up there her own damned self.  “We’re on our way,” Gil promised.  There was more, including the actual address so that they wouldn’t have to look it up and how she would meet them there but would wait with her driver at the Willis’ until they told her they were in place and probably something else, but Dani was no longer listening.  Hell, she didn’t even know if anyone else was coming with.  Between one breath and the next, she was in the SUV beside JT, dodging traffic with the lights on until they got out to the quieter streets and simply sped, all local units notified there was an “incident” being investigated and not to intervene with Major Crimes unless requested.</p>
<p>It wasn’t that the Hamptons were that far, distance-wise.  It was just that New York traffic sucked on a good day and the universe had decided it was not a good day.  The house could have been in DC and they would have headed off all the same.  It was only when they were about halfway there that she wondered why no one had utilized the Whitly’s vast riches and gotten a damned chopper instead.</p>
<p>They had killed the lights and siren long before they inched up to the so-called summer residence that was worth more than all of their incomes put together.  Gated, of course, and alarmed, and with a beachfront view that she would have appreciated had she not been fitting a bulletproof vest atop her blouse at the time.</p>
<p>“Dani,” Gil warned, and she knew what he was going to say, that she shouldn’t go in, that she should stay back, that she could coordinate with other units if necessary.  He stopped himself though, and pulled his weapon as she slid an extra clip into her pocket.  “Let’s see if this asshole knows where to find our boy,” is what he said instead.</p>
<p>Jessica had given them a code that was undoubtedly a one-time use only kind of thing, and they used it after securing what they could of the perimeter.  JT took the patio entrance, Gil took the rear, and she took the front door, which left far too many balconies and other means of escape open, but the units with them should be able to cover the rest while they did what they could.  Per the log, only one door had been keyed and reset with no other outer sensors triggered since, which meant whoever went in was likely still there.</p>
<p>She cleared the foyer and sitting room sans flammable items followed shortly by the formal dining room, and instinct drove her up the stairs to the second level.  There, she saw it: a smudge of dirt against the pristine rug.  Several smudges, really, and she followed them to a room even as she heard Gil report through her earpiece that he found footprints at the staff staircase and was on his way up.  She signaled the two officers that had accompanied her to stay back for now, the last thing she needed was for them to be startled by Arroyo and open fire.  They were trained, but that meant nothing when tensions were high.</p>
<p>There was a noise, a rustling of sorts, just beyond the door that she approached.  Her memory provided that the room was situated to have one of the balconies, but she took her chance anyway and announced, “NYPD!  Come out with your hands up!”</p>
<p>She heard a crash from within and kicked the door open, weapon at the ready, clearing the room and all its corners with a steady gaze.  There was movement to her right where a door opened to an ensuite and she could see the edge of a sink smeared with gunk and what could be blood.  The floor was littered with a mess of discarded cloth and what looked like bandages.</p>
<p>And then the cloth moved.</p>
<p>She took a step closer knowing Gil was now behind her and JT stood ready at the most likely exit to give chase if needed.  </p>
<p>It wasn’t needed.</p>
<p>The cloth, the figure draped in it, slowly started to rise from a crumpled heap on the floor.  She could make out freshly bandaged fingers as they braced themselves on the tub, on the cabinet, on the wall itself.  The figure remained hunched over, uneven strands of brownish hair distorting her view of his face though she recognized Bright’s favorite type of hoodie and trackpants worn atop a frame too small to be Malcolm’s.  The room likely was originally his, an armoire cracked open with clothing falling out of it at her side.</p>
<p>One staggering step, and then another, and finally the figure turned towards her, backlit by the light of the bathroom.  He managed two more steps before he needed to brace himself against the doorframe.  It was enough.  She could finally see just what she was dealing with.  Just who she was dealing with.</p>
<p>“Holy shit,” she whispered.  Her hands were steady from long years of practice, but she couldn’t promise they would stay that way.  She still didn’t trust her eyes though, didn’t believe that she wasn’t imagining things.</p>
<p>A voice, cracked from lack of use or possible damage, that was even quieter than her own asked, “Real?”</p>
<p>Before her stood, for loose definitions of standing, a man with a bony frame accentuated by the too large of clothing.  He swam in the simple dark sweatshirt that hung from skeletal shoulders and she could see the sharp collarbones where the t-shirt beneath it sagged.  The trackpants were tied tightly and still slid down, complicating his attempts at movement without tripping over the things.  He had a full and unkempt beard and recently washed hair that hung down past his chin and obscured half of his face.  </p>
<p>But the half she could see was enough.  Those eyes, sunken and shadowed against sallow skin, she would know anywhere.  Those eyes with their impossibly pale blue.  Those eyes that were already filling with tears.</p>
<p>“B-Bright?” she confirmed, afraid that saying his name would make him disappear.</p>
<p>He shuffled forward, listing heavily to the side with each step.  She saw the red-tinted gauze around toes, and a swath of scratches not yet tended to across the top of his left foot, but there was something more, another reason for his gait, and that worried her.  </p>
<p>Two more steps, and then a third, and he stood right before her.  He wavered in place for a moment before he sunk to his knees and buried his face in the Kevlar that protected her stomach, arms wrapped weakly around her waist as he began to sob.</p>
<p>She lowered her weapon and handed it off to Gil so that she could grip the too-thin shoulders, feel the bone beneath and know he was real, he was there with her, he was alive.</p>
<p>“Tell me,” a nearly unrecognizable voice croaked.  “Tell me!” it demanded, weak as it was.</p>
<p>“We’re real,” she promised.  Her own face was as soaked as the little bit of her shirt that poked out beneath the vest, but she paid it no mind.  She stroked his hair back from his face, needed to see it was truly him, needed to know what her heart told her she held in her arms.</p>
<p>There was a full body flinch when Gil knelt beside him and tried to put an arm around him.  The older man apologized immediately when Bright recoiled from his touch.  Too much trauma.  Too much unknown.  At the sound of his voice though, the man in her arms relaxed and reached out a shaky hand to pull him closer as he chanted apologies of his own.</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” Gil warned, voice heavy with emotion.  “Just… Just say you’re here.”</p>
<p>“Here,” Malcolm promised.  “Finally here.”</p>
<p>There was a slew of profanity from the doorway to the suite that announced JT’s arrival.  “You’re like a cockroach, man.  You survive everything, don’t you?”  There was a snort from one of the officers behind him, but she paid it no mind.</p>
<p>“Had to,” Bright replied.  He let go of Gil to press his palm against her abdomen when he insisted, “Had to for them.”</p>
<p>She froze for a moment, entire body going tense and breathing was something she consciously had to think about doing.  Gil knew, of course, and so did JT.  They could tell the difference between her anxiety at finding her open secret boyfriend and her morning sickness.  She had found out just before Malcolm went missing and had planned to tell him as soon as her own emotions where in order.  Well, that part never happened.  She had been nearly two months along by the time she thought to take a test given how abnormal her cycle usually was from the stress of the job and everything else.  She had it confirmed officially after a few blaringly positive home tests, and now it was nearly an additional six weeks from that.  Beneath her vest, her stomach had the very beginnings of a telltale roundness.  The telltale signs of life.  The telltale signs of what she feared might be the only thing she had left of the man before her.</p>
<p>He, of course, noticed the way she reacted.  His head shot up even though he needed to steady himself from the action.  “Something happen?” he asked, splintered voice full of fear.  She needed to get him something for that, needed to get him something for the myriad of wounds she could see on him in various states of treatment.</p>
<p>She swallowed heavily and watched him pale even further, for once reading her tells incorrectly, so she shook her head as fervently as she could manage.  “They are fine,” she insisted.  She sniffed tellingly.  “I don’t know if they are a he or a she so I’m still saying they.  And they only thing wrong with them is that their daddy went missing.  But you fixed that now.  You’re here.  Tell me you’re here?”</p>
<p>“I’m here,” he said as a promise and a prayer.  He leaned forward again and rested his forehead against the back of his hand that was still pressed against her, breath ragged and uneven.</p>
<p>“As sweet and touching as this all is, I am not going to be the one to deal with Jessica Whitly,” JT announced, interrupting the moment before they got too lost in themselves.  Dani knew him well enough to hear the emotion in his decidedly not-bland tone.</p>
<p>“Mom – My mother?” Malcolm asked shakily.</p>
<p>“You set off the alarm and turned it off when you got here,” Gil reminded him.  “Given that most of the world thought you were dead and gone, she was a bit concerned.  Thank you, by the way, for proving them all wrong.”</p>
<p>Malcolm finally moved his head enough to look at them all.  “Dead?” he verified.</p>
<p>“You were missing for nearly a month and a half,” Gil told him gently.  It was clear he had no clue it had been that long.  “Assumptions were made.”</p>
<p>“Not by us though,” JT assured him.  “We knew you’re a damned cockroach.  Had to check my shoes every night to see if you were there.”</p>
<p>“Scarab,” Malcolm corrected.  He coughed and his entire too-thin body rocked with the action.  “Cross to the Underworld and back. Prettier too.”</p>
<p>JT snorted a laugh that sounded suspiciously like the word, “Asshole.”  Her usual partner in solving crime had lowered his gun but did not holster it just yet.  “Are you alone?” he asked.  Then, knowing Bright too well, he amended that to, “Did anyone follow you?  Is there anyone in the house we need to know about?”</p>
<p>Bright shook his head and she had to hold him steady from the action.  “Escaped.  Don’t think I was followed.  Didn’t think it had been six weeks though so don’t know how much to trust my judgment…  Set alarm in case I was wrong.”</p>
<p>“Why the hell didn’t you call?  There’s a landline in the kitchen,” Gil questioned, asking what was on everyone’s minds.  There was no judgment, only concern to his words.  </p>
<p>“I…” Bright started, then hung his head.  “I really wanted a shower, and to brush my teeth like forty times,” he admitted with embarrassment.  “I was going to call, but think I passed out?”</p>
<p>As far as Dani was concerned, that was a fair request, even if she had wished he had called prior to the shower to allow them the almost two hour drive to get there by the time he was done.  Allow them the almost two hours to mentally prepare for what awaited them.  Not that she would have been prepared.  Not that she could cope with what was right in front of her.  She swallowed back a thousand questions and asked, “Are you okay?” even though she knew he wasn’t.</p>
<p>“No,” he surprised her and answered honestly.  “I’m almost six weeks without my medications, went through withdrawal in a shack, and climbed my way out of a shallow grave.  Everything hurts, my body won’t move right, and I think I’m about to pass out again.”</p>
<p>Gil caught him as he began to slump.  Between the three of them, they got the semi-conscious man up and onto the carved four poster bed and propped against some pillows.  He didn’t want to let go of her and she had to admit that the feeling was mutual.  With that in mind, she kicked off her shoes, removed her bulky vest, and climbed up beside him.  Within moments, his head was curled in her lap, sobs wracking his body again until he finally passed out.</p>
<p>Gil stepped out to call Jessica and JT stepped out to give them some privacy after he verified there was nothing on the balcony that could be a potential threat.  The team with them was sent to secure the perimeter and to look for any signs that they were not alone.  Malcolm clearly needed food and water and medical treatment, but he also needed her and she selfishly needed him in turn.  They would get to the other items on the list soon enough but, for now, she gave him the one thing they both needed the most: each other.</p>
<p>It didn’t take long for Mrs. Whitly to arrive.  Dani looked up to see her in the doorway, barely holding herself back despite JT’s request for quiet if not solitude.  She stepped gingerly into the room, towering heels barely making a sound on the floor, and hesitantly approached the bed.  She reached out a hand but pulled it back before she made contact.</p>
<p>“He’s real,” Dani confirmed.  The words set off a gush of tears and a soft sob, which served as a catalyst for another round of her own crying that she had just gotten under control.</p>
<p>Mrs. Whitly gently placed a hand on her son’s back, frowning when she noticed how much weight he couldn’t afford to lose was gone.  “What happened?  H-how?” she whispered.</p>
<p>Malcolm’s brow furrowed at the sound of his mother’s voice, but he didn’t fully wake.  Part of that may have been due to the way Dani kept up the gentle strokes of his long locks of hair, careful to avoid what she saw to be a scabbed over wound near his hairline.  “We don’t know everything yet,” she evaded.  Telling someone their son had been buried alive and clawed his way out was probably a bad thing, especially when they were already distraught.  “He escaped and made it here.  He’s alive.  Not well, there’s no hiding that, but he’s alive, and that’s what’s important.”</p>
<p>She received a shaky nod for her troubles before Mrs. Whitly attempted to pull all of her usual masks in place.  She failed, but Dani wasn’t going to be the one that told her that.  “What does he need?  What do you need?” the matriarch asked, trying to put on some semblance of her usual persona.</p>
<p>“He needs sleep and, eventually, he’s going to need food.  Something light?  Broth maybe?  And then he needs to go to a doctor because, really, he just does,” she replied.  She had started out strong, but ended with an obvious sniff that the other woman didn’t call her out on.  That may have been because she was crying again as well.  Or maybe it was still.</p>
<p>“Done,” Mrs. Whitly promised.  Then, with her usual shrewdness, she pointed out, “But you didn’t answer about yourself, my dear.  Did you need anything?  Food, that tea of yours, a pillow for your feet or a hot pad for your back?”</p>
<p>Malcolm’s mother knew about her condition.  Two weeks into the search, she had pulled Dani aside and demanded answers, in a prim and proper way, of course.  After that, she received regular check-ins to make sure she was doing alright.  She knew it was likely checking in on the potential grandchild-to-be and last tie to her missing son more than anything else, but it was sweet in its own way, nonetheless.  The fact that Malcolm was back, was right there in front of them both, and the concern remained hinted at something more that she wasn’t ready to deal with quite yet.</p>
<p>“I have him,” she replied, fingers trembling on the next stroke as she realized she almost hadn’t.  “I don’t need anything else.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Whitly smiled and nodded and brought her up tea, some crackers that she swore kept the morning sickness away that actually really did kind of help on most days, and a heating pad anyway.  Her lower back had begun to ache a week ago, growing pains and such, and sometimes the heat helped.  Malcolm slightly stirred as JT of all people hooked up the heating pad.  Bruised and bleary eyes peered up at her and a gravelly voice asked, “Am I hurting you?”  </p>
<p>He started to squirm away but she pulled him right back down to his previous position.  “Never,” she promised.  She started playing with his hair again, which seemed to calm some of his agitation.  Once his breathing started to even out from the almost panicked breaths, she asked, “Do you think you can try some tea?  It might help your throat.”  Broth had yet to be found, but was likely on its way.</p>
<p>“I’ll spill it on you,” he protested around a yawn.  He raised a hand to show her how much it shook with just that simple movement, as though she hadn’t felt every tremor with every shift of his body.  She had read up on the withdrawal symptoms of benzodiazepines and knew it was one of many possible side effects.  He had already suffered from PTSD and hallucinations so she figured those were a given, but feared he might veer towards catatonic or suicidal episodes given his past.  He couldn’t physically handle any more weight loss, that much she was sure of, which meant she was currently brainstorming via text with the rest of the team on how to get calories into him in a way that his body would not reject.</p>
<p>She helped him sit up enough to take a tiny sip of what she had been given, and tried not to laugh at the face he made.  “Bitter,” he complained, and started to slide back down again.</p>
<p>“I’ve got two options for you,” JT announced when he returned to the bedside.  He stuffed some pillows near the headboard and bodily shifted Bright into a position that was half propped up and half still draped over Dani.  Once that was completed, he held up two sports bottles with the type of lid where you needed to actively suck on them to get the liquid out.  “One of these has that Earl Grey stuff with enough honey to feed a house of bees in it.  The other has Gatorade, the blue stuff you like.”</p>
<p>“Bees don’t eat honey,” Bright pointed out.  He reached for that bottle anyway, and would have dropped it if it hadn’t been for JT’s quick reflexes.  He took a tentative sip, coughed heavily, and then went right back to it.  He greedily gulped down what he could, which was a testament to how thirsty he was, whining when JT pulled the bottle back so he wouldn’t choke again.</p>
<p>“Slow sips, man,” the larger man directed.  “You need the liquid, and probably the calories for your skinny ass, but you need to keep it in you, not cough it up on your Baby Momma.” </p>
<p>Bright rolled his eyes with a fraction of his usual attitude, but dutifully took smaller sips.  The bottle had only been about half-full when it was given to him because JT was not stupid, but he finished most of it before he started to drift off again.  Dani freed it from his grasp and he curled into her once more.  She turned to place it on the bedside table where she had left her vest, but Gil appeared and took it from her instead.  He also moved the vest to one of the chairs in the room and offered a charger cord for her phone instead.  </p>
<p>“Figure you might be here a while,” he said by way of explanation.  </p>
<p>“Eventually, we’re both going to have to pee from that much tea,” she joked.</p>
<p>He huffed a laugh, but she could still see the lines of worry around his eyes.  “He made it,” he stated with an air of disbelief.  “I thought…  I feared…”  He stopped himself from saying anything more, from voicing any deeper fears, hand over his lips though he tried to pretend he was just smoothing out his goatee.</p>
<p>“God damned cockroach,” JT reminded him from where he had taken up residence in one of the other chairs.  </p>
<p>“Scarab,” Bright corrected, proving to them that he wasn’t completely out yet.  He turned his head just slightly though Dani was fairly certain his eyes weren’t focused enough the actually see the others.  “You need my statement?”</p>
<p>Gil protested, “You need to rest.  We have time.”  He had texted Dani to let her know he had already advised the Brass of the miraculous return.  There was going to be paperwork and reports and everything else, but even the higher-ups knew when a team needed just a moment when something happened to one of their own.</p>
<p>“Short version?” he offered instead.  His voice was a little better after the tea, but not by much.</p>
<p>“Is the short version that it sucked?” JT guessed.</p>
<p>Malcolm pushed himself upright, and mainly only managed it from the multiple sets of hands helping him do so.  He was exhausted and needed sleep, that much was clear.  He was also stubborn with an undying need for data, so no one was going to fully stop him.  Though that might have been some of her own curiosity at play, she had to admit.  She knew that the actual knowledge of what he went through would fuel her own nightmares for years to come, but the scenarios she had made up in her head the past few weeks did that already, so at least these would be based more on fact than fiction.</p>
<p>“Loft got broken into,” he started.  “I wasn’t asleep – surprise, I know – but I wasn’t fully awake and hadn’t taken off the restraints yet.  He got me before I could.”  He paused to tug his hair out of his eyes, and she caught sight of one of the poorly wrapped bandages around his wrists.  It reminded her that they still needed to get him to a doctor, someone to wrap things properly and to do bloodwork to determine how much of what meds would be safe in his current state.</p>
<p>“You want a hair tie?” JT jokingly offered.  “You could rock a mean man-bun.”</p>
<p>Bright smiled at that, almost a real one.  “I think my mother would have a heart attack.”</p>
<p>Dani was fairly certain his mother wouldn’t care so long as he was alive and not presumed dead, but knew not to interrupt.</p>
<p>“There was a shack.  Um, maybe an old horse barn?  Rundown,” he continued.  “We were kept there.  Two of us.  Two at a time.  One to watch what happened to the other and to dig their grave.  We, ah, were not treated well in the interim, and I’ll spare you the details for now.  They’d drive out to places and hold people at gunpoint until they were brought back to the shack.  Guy before me said the guy before him confirmed it.  Had me ‘accidentally’ whack him in the head so he’d be unconscious instead of suffocate.  It’s where I got this as repayment,” he said, and pointed to the scab on his head.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry,” Dani whispered, but he shook his head.  She silently added to the profile that he was using plurals, and wondered if he would confirm there were two assailants or if he had misspoken given his condition.  They had been working off of the idea of a lone killer but, then again, they had not known about the dual cycle either.</p>
<p>“He… he wasn’t going to make it.  Bleeding too much, broken ankle.  Couldn’t run,” Bright told her, bringing her back to his tale.  “When it was my turn, they made us stand further apart so she couldn’t do it to me.  She… she hit him with the shovel and tried to run.  There was a shot.  They complained that she ruined the pattern and buried me themselves.  Waited for how long it took before, or tried to.  Once they’re buried, they don’t care.  Stand around.  Taunt the next one but there wasn’t a next one for me.  Dug my way out.  Saw her body in the woods.  Might have been punishment.  Might have been waiting to take another and have them bury her.”</p>
<p>He was openly crying, but that was fair as he was not the only one.  JT took a telling sniff and asked, “I hate to do this man, but do you have any idea where you were kept?  I figure you must have if you came here.”</p>
<p>Bright nodded.  “Shed was old, left to rot like us.  They didn’t stay with us, not both of them and not for the entire time.  I think they were staying in the old Hopkins guest house that borders the state park.  Husband and wife.  She drove and fed us, if you’d call it that.  Looked like it was close enough.  They – the Hopkins – don’t come up here anymore, not really, and would use main house if they did.  Broke their pattern and buried me at Saint Rosalie’s, which wasn’t that far from here.  Think they’re getting bolder.  Impatient.  Traced way back from there.”</p>
<p>“I know where that is, the main house at least, and can get you the address,” a voice said from the doorway.  She looked up to see Mrs. Whitly standing there, looking as shaken as she had ever seen her.  No parent should have to hear such things about their child and she hoped to never live through half of what that woman had been through in her life.  Of course, proving just who she was, Jessica added, “I’m sure Elaine will be happy to join me in Social Purgatory with the knowledge she too housed a killer for an unknown time.”</p>
<p>“Ain’t no way they’ll be able to hide that many cops being there,” JT agreed.  Dani knew he had grown a little defensive of Bright and his non-serial-killing family members, but this was the first time he was really showing it openly.  “They’ll need to dig up the whole place to look for bodies.”</p>
<p>“She’ll be upset if you touch her rose garden,” Mrs. Whitly commented drily, clearly not caring that much.</p>
<p>“Might explain why they’re doing so well,” Bright mused.  A cough and a shudder that reminded them all he wasn’t doing his best despite his storytelling ways, and he explained, “Blood can be good for growth.”</p>
<p>Gil rolled his eyes at the commentary but it was Dani herself who voiced, “Really?” in disbelief.  Left for dead, clawed his way to safety, was barely holding on by a thread, and he was telling rich-people jokes.  She saw him open his mouth, likely to elaborate on something he had explained at an earlier crime scene much to Edrisa’s delight, but she cut him off with, “No, please do not explain how decomposing bodies are good for the soil.”</p>
<p>“Again,” JT added in agreement.</p>
<p>Mrs. Whitly seemed unfazed by her son’s sense of humor though, to be sure, she had to be used to it by then, not to mention it apparently mirrored her own when she let her walls down a tiny bit.  She knew the area the best and commented, “The Hopkins house is miles away, dear.  Surely you could have stopped at another place for assistance, especially in the state you are in.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t know who would be home and didn’t know what the response would be if I set off their alarms.  I figured family was safest,” Malcolm shrugged.  Or would have had his body worked the way it was supposed to.  He more lunged slightly to the side, only to be caught by Dani’s own shoulder.</p>
<p>“I never would have believed anyone on this earth would think aiming for the Whitly household would be the safe bet,” Jessica muttered.  It got the desired response as Dani could see Malcolm’s lips just barely turn up in a smile, the first since they had found him.  She then focused her laser-like attention back on her son, not that it had ever truly left.  “You need a doctor.  You will be taken to the hospital and you will let an actual physician look at you and run what tests they believe to be run.  If, after this, they believe care can be provided sans hospital that you will likely try to escape from anyway, I will hire the appropriate nursing staff.”</p>
<p>“Home?  Please?” he asked, voice pitiful enough that even Dani was tempted to give in.</p>
<p>Mrs. Whitly shook her head, made of sterner stuff than the rest of them.  “That was not an option,” she reminded him.  “You may stay here, or you may come back to my house.  In either instance, you will not be left alone.  You will not go back to that loft of yours until I am convinced you will not kill yourself on those steps and will not change the locks on me.”</p>
<p>“Sunshine?” he tried.</p>
<p>Before Dani could answer, Gil promised, “Sunshine’s at my place.  Alive and well, I promise.”</p>
<p>“No hospital?” he nearly begged.  His hand snaked out to rest atop her stomach and he said, “I just got them back.”</p>
<p>His mother’s bottom lip wavered, but she held strong.  “If the doctor insists you stay, you stay.  We will make certain it is a room with full visitation rights.  If treatment can be carried out, IVs and all, in a private setting, you will be allowed that,” she reiterated.  </p>
<p>He opened his mouth to protest, but Dani beat him to it.  She was not proud enough to avoid using herself and her current condition against him, especially when it was in his best interest.  “Please, Mal, I would feel so much better if I knew you were going to be okay.  I worry that we’d miss something here, something important, without you being seen.”  She pressed his hand against her barely rounded belly as she spoke, knowing the unspoken message would get through to him.</p>
<p>It was a low blow and everyone in the room knew it.  Absolutely no one called her on it.  Not even Malcolm, which spoke to how far gone he truly was.</p>
<p>Which is how she found herself damn near living in a hospital room more decked out than her first apartment for the next five days.  Hell, it challenged her most recent one, or it would have if it had a kitchenette attached.  She stayed while test after test was run, blood levels checked and re-checked, proprioception and muscular imbalance reviewed multiple times a day.  Night terrors were definitely a thing, but the staff either let her try to calm him on her own or at least included her at every turn.  The first time she had her not-so-morning sickness in front of one of the nurses, the nutritionist turned her beady eyes on her as well and she came back from slinking away to a truly unhealthy amount of grease of a lunch in retaliation to even the pullout bed being upgraded.</p>
<p>Gil and JT kept her updated on the discovery and capture of David and Eliza Newberry; where they found them, where they found their newest detainees, and where they discovered the list of where at least three more bodies were buried.  The marks on the tree outnumbered even those, which meant there was still more digging to be done, literally.  Pointedly absent from any texts, calls, or visits, were the descriptions of just where the taken were kept, the conditions and amenities or lack thereof.  She debated whether or not she needed the knowledge, to both fuel her nightmares and to know what she was dealing with while she tried to calm Bright’s, but the haunted looks in the eyes of her partner and her boss when they visited curtailed that line of thought.  </p>
<p>One of the nurses had made the mistake of mentioning they were down to just wound care, hydration, and making sure he was taking to his new meds well enough in front of him, and then it was an uphill battle to keep him physically at the hospital from that point on.  Jessica stayed true to her word though, and a personal nurse was hired and accommodations were to be arranged as soon as Malcolm declared just where he wanted to spend the next likely several weeks recuperating that was decidedly not his loft.</p>
<p>They ended up splitting the difference and she owed Ainsley for her insane negotiation skills.  She knew her family well, and knew how to play them both.  It was something Dani was both impressed and worried about as she tried to figure out if the younger Whitly had ever used those skills for less than good against herself over the past few weeks, or ever.</p>
<p>She spent two weeks in the Hamptons on extended leave, the fresh air and the lack of people doing Malcolm a world of good.  Jonathan, the nurse with more patience than she had ever seen, simply rolled with it every time Bright tried to shut him out or rip out the IV when his levels got too low or crossed his arms and refused to eat like a two-year-old.  He’d coax him back from whatever fugue had taken him and calmly explain that doing this now meant he wouldn’t have to do it for quite as long.  He’d hold him up after Bright would nearly collapse after the daily exercises, and reward him with damned Twizzlers when he met his daily goals.  He also very pointedly made certain that Dani’s own meals were less whatever happened to be at hand and more nutritionally rounded, yet still satisfied what she totally would not admit were cravings.</p>
<p>“It’s not like there’s a lot of fast food options around here,” she argued when he judged her for making a bacon and cheese sandwich at one in the morning.  She silently thanked Mrs. Whitly’s maid for sneaking the makings into the grocery run.  That, and a package of decently high-end chocolate that went directly to her and never even breathed in the direction of the kitchen and its warden.  </p>
<p>“There are healthier options,” Jonathan replied with the same calmness he used on Malcolm in the middle of a fit.  She wasn’t having a fit, she was just hungry, so she wasn’t sure if she appreciated the tone.</p>
<p>“I didn’t add a pack of Skittles, so let’s call it a draw,” she muttered before taking as large of bite as she could manage.  She was not going to risk the man taking the sandwich physically out of her hands.  </p>
<p>While he contemplated if she meant atop the bacon or on the side, she darted a look over to the recently arrived Bright, and caught him with a very rare smile.  It was small, but there, and she counted it as a win.  He was still too pale and tired far too easily, but that didn’t mean he neared anything like a standard sleep schedule, no matter how hard anyone tried, and she meant not even standard for himself.  He clambered into one of the stools set against the kitchen island next to her and rested heavily against the fine marble.  Jonathan offered to make him something if he was actually willing to eat for a change, and then looked like he questioned his life choices when the other man deadpanned a request for Skittles in response.</p>
<p>She would have felt bad for the guy save for the fact that it was literally his job to deal with Bright and, by default, her as well.  A well paid job at that as there was no way Jessica would skimp on such services.  Instead, she offered Malcolm a bite of her sandwich and, possibly just to spite the nurse, he accepted.  It was tiny, but it totally counted, much to said nurse’s dismay.  </p>
<p>Instead of curling back up in bed after the later-than-midnight-snack, she let Malcolm dictate what was to be done.  She wasn’t surprised that he wanted to stay up, but she was surprised when he pulled her out to the lounging chairs set up on the deck.   He didn’t protest her pulling two of them side by side and even put up with Jonathan tucking blankets around them both and setting thermoses of hot tea beside them.  Sunrise was still hours away and the beach was lit only with the lights of the house and the night sky.  Together, they let the crash of the waves lull them into their own little bubble of peace and tranquility.  She tried not to, but she dozed for a little while, regular sleep nonexistent when syncing to someone recovering from a traumatic event and refusing to take anything to aid in that avenue.  She blinked awake to find a good twenty minutes had passed per her phone and glanced over to apologize only to discover that it was entirely not needed as Malcolm was out cold beside her.  She figured she should get her rest while she could and closed her eyes again.</p>
<p>She next opened them to see the first brilliant rays of the sun peeking above the horizon.  Pinks and purples and even some oranges sliced through the black and gray.  The light must have been just enough for Malcolm as well as she heard him begin to stir beside her.  “Hey,” she whispered.  “Check this out.”</p>
<p>He rubbed his eyes and looked to her as though she was the something incredible to show him.  She motioned away from herself to the panorama before them and watched his eyes widen in wonder.  She slid in closer to him and he wrapped an arm around her and together they tugged the blankets just right against the chill of the morning air.  They stayed that way until the sun fully bloomed above the water, her rumbling stomach and overwhelming need to pee reluctantly destroying their little reverie.  </p>
<p>Neither one mentioned that it was the longest, steady sleep he had gotten since his return.</p>
<p>Nor did they mention the distinct lack of night terrors.</p>
<p>In truth, despite the horrific everything he went through, his night terrors had quickly become significantly less common than they had been before his abduction.  They were still intense when they hit, but he was down to less than one a night versus one nearly every time he closed his eyes.  She didn’t know if his forced withdrawal and new meds in his system meant they actually worked, or if his brain just short-circuited from the sheer amount of stress he had been through mixed with his usual his levels of anxiety.  Gil had posited that the number one source of the terrors previously had been the not-so-good Doctor Martin Whitly, a person Malcolm had now gone without seeing for roughly two months.  Absent his father’s usual gaslighting and other machinations, maybe his body was coping with the current and pushing the past aside.  She was certain it had the chance to explode int heir faces sooner or later, but appreciated the fact he was at least given enough of a reprieve for now to make headway on healing.</p>
<p>She honestly wasn’t sure if anyone had told The Surgeon that Malcolm had been found.  He knew when his son went missing from the lack of visits and answering calls.  He had blown up Ainsley’s and Jessica’s phones instead, right up until Jessica snapped and hung up on him.  She wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Whitly to have had all of their numbers changed simply to put a damper on his usual antics.  Regardless, for now, there was no constant stream of phone calls and voicemails and she was positive that lowered the stress levels for all involved.</p>
<p>“What are you thinking about?” she asked several hours later.  He had finished his physical therapy for the day, showered, and curled up on the couch in front of the windows with a picturesque view of the water.  His hair flopped a little into his eyes despite the recent trim, and his chin held a tiny bit of scruff as this was apparently one of the days he didn’t trust himself with a razor, not even the electronic type.</p>
<p>“Shoes,” he said definitively.  His voice was back to normal, the few times he deigned to use it.  Slowly, day by day, he was coming out of his shell a little bit more, coming back to his true self again.  He had not gone into details but it was pretty clear that speech was not seen as a necessity during his capture.  Solving ridiculous puzzles for food and water, testing the limits of the human body, yes.  Speech, not so much.</p>
<p>She raised an eyebrow in question, and he patted the cushion next to him in invitation.  She sat down and he assumed his now usual position of curled into her, palm resting on the growing curve of her belly.  He tucked his feet up beside him, which stressed the point that neither one of them had really worn any shoes for the duration of their stay, which again made her question the topic that he had chosen to contemplate.</p>
<p>With a hint of a prompt, he nuzzled into her shoulder a bit more and finally repeated, “Shoes.”  A quirk of his lips and that she felt more than saw, and he expanded, “Tiny little shoes.  Booties.  Pre-shoes, I guess?  How we’re going to have dozens of those things everywhere.  And sleepers.  And toys.  And probably things I can’t even think of right now.”</p>
<p>She tried to hide her elation that he was thinking forward, thinking about the future, and what that meant for his mental health.  She also knew not to plan an entire future on something as unreliable as pregnancy and childbirth.  Anything could happen before the child set foot in the world and, yes, she had thought of all the horrible possibilities herself, keeping up a front so as not to destroy what little hope Bright had latched onto during his recovery.  She wasn’t a high-risk pregnancy, but she worked a high-risk job, or at least she did before she took leave.  She had the feeling that risk was going to be cut down severely once she returned, at least for the next several months, and mentally prepared herself for more deskwork than she was strictly comfortable with.  She swallowed that down and instead commented, “Well, your mother does have quite the collection so it only makes sense any kid we have will as well.”</p>
<p>He huffed his current version of a laugh.  “You haven’t even seen Ainsley’s yet.”</p>
<p>“Does it rival yours?”</p>
<p>“Mine, my mother’s, probably half the precinct’s,” he agreed easily enough.  “And I mean that combined.”</p>
<p>She started to comb her fingers through his hair.  She told herself he found it soothing, but she knew that applied to herself as well.  “Are we going to have to contend with ridiculously overpriced little outfits that’ll make me cry when they get covered with snot and baby poop?”</p>
<p>“Probably,” he agreed easily enough.  He didn’t seem to mind the idea but he hadn’t fully come to terms with her plan to not need staff beyond maybe a nanny to help out when they had cases, which meant it would be one of the two of them having to try to clean stuff up.  Maybe that would mean the pricey items would be less forthcoming when he saw how easily they were destroyed.  Then again, she had seen how quickly he had gone through suits in the past without a care.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with like Oshkosh stuff?  Or maybe some generic cartoon characters that we can leave behind at a place’s dumpster like my cousin used to have to do with her kids’ stuff when they got too gross?” she complained good-naturedly. </p>
<p>His hand started to do that thing where he rubbed absent circles atop her belly without him realizing he was doing it.  The hand didn’t tremble, at least not when set with this particular task, but she knew it was a substitute more than anything else, the need for movement, no matter how unconscious it be, was definitely there.  “Nothing,” he agreed, maybe too easily.  “But if those two are involved, you’re going to start to learn the names Burberry and Hanna Andersson and maybe Dolce.”</p>
<p>“The first is a type of muffin, the second sounds like one of the suspects from the Clairton case, and the third is the syrup I like in my lattes,” she said solely because she could.  He smothered another hint of a laugh into her arm before she prompted, “So, booties?”</p>
<p>“And cribs and toys…  Did we want two of each, one for your place and one for mine?” he asked, voice impossibly small towards the end.</p>
<p>She turned to face him even though it dislodged them both from their warm little cuddle cocoon.  “Malcolm, honey, I practically lived at your loft before all of this.  I’ve been at your side since we got you back.  I’m not leaving, not unless you want me to.”</p>
<p>“Together?” he verified.  “As in…”</p>
<p>“As in we practically live together anyway but we might as well simplify?  Yes,” she confirmed.  He surged forward and hugged her tight and she patted what she could of him with her arms trapped as they were.  “Was this what had you up thinking?”</p>
<p>“Maybe?” he admitted, which meant a definite yes.  </p>
<p>The logistics of such a prospect were way too much for either one of them at the moment, and she knew it.  Instead, she dug out her phone and asked, “Should we try to beat your sister and your mom to the punch and get the kid a pair of something sensible before they send us custom leather whatever?”</p>
<p>“You really think they haven’t ordered anything yet?” he asked doubtingly.</p>
<p>“Oh, they probably have, but they haven’t given them to us yet so we can pretend we were first.”</p>
<p>His resounding guffaw made it worthwhile.</p>
<p>After the two weeks of salty air and living in the lap of luxury and petulance, they returned back to the loft.  A loft that was scrubbed clean of any and all traces of anything that might remind Bright of his abduction, and had a few modifications made in layout and cupboard contents.  Jonathan handed her a checklist of medications, caloric requirements, and more, and promised he would stop by every other day for at least another week.</p>
<p>Once he left, Bright eyed those modifications and made a face.  “No,” he announced.</p>
<p>“No?” she questioned.</p>
<p>He walked over to one of the little bubbles that hid a security camera and tried to reach it.  When that failed, he tried to jump.  When that failed, he righted himself on still not one hundred percent stable legs, shook a finger at her, and grabbed a broom from the closet.  “I am not having cameras watch my every move,” he growled.  He took a swing at the one in the kitchen and, when she stopped him, moved on to the one near the bed.  “When I’m sleeping?  When we’re doing things other than sleep?  No!” he declared.</p>
<p>She had known it would be a hard sell on those, and had warned Jessica and Gil as much.  It’s also why she already had a backup plan in place that she hoped seemed like a compromise and not her original allowance of such things.  “What if we keep the ones in the stairwell and the ones next to the windows in the living area?  Nothing pointed at anything other than ways to get in.”</p>
<p>“Dani…” he sighed, still not fully appeased.</p>
<p>That was fine though, as she had a backup to her backup ready to go.  “Stairwell and sensors on the windows and door?  That’s barely more than you used to have,” she wheedled.  “Your sister mentioned she has a voice-activated option that she says a key phrase and it either locks everything down or alerts the authorities as needed.”</p>
<p>He breathed out, both defeated and accepting of that fact.  “Stairwell.  Sensors.  No cameras watching and reporting back to my mother every time I eat a Twizzler,” he relented.  He paused and peeked around a bit before he exclaimed, “In the bathroom?  No!”</p>
<p>While he was distracted trying to find where each and every camera was hidden, she grabbed her phone and texted to the masses, “I was right. Fix it.”  She got the expected responses, including a string of emojis from Ainsley and a promise she was good for the twenty she had bet against her.  More importantly, she also got a text back from Mrs. Whitly that she’d have someone out to correct the issue by the next day at the latest.  Also, Malcolm had never directly opposed the voice-activated option, so they were keeping that.  She had no idea if such a thing could have prevented his capture, or at least cut down the time it took to find him, but if there was a chance, even with the tiny possibility that such a thing might ever happen again, she was taking it.</p>
<p>Things seemed to go well enough for the rest of the day, or at least the little that remained of it.  They cuddled on the couch together and indulged in their new pastime of seeking out the most ridiculous baby outfits and nursery setups while eating foods Jonathan most definitely would not approve of.  She was adamant that she was not getting any ideas from the overpriced flash and glitz of it all, and Malcolm kept a list of things she tried her best not to coo over that she had the feeling might be valid options later.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until it was time for bed that things came to a head.  She hadn’t done much all day, neither of them had, really, but she fought a yawn and decided it was time to turn in.  They took turns washing up and changing into pajamas and such and, when she exited the bathroom, she found him frozen just before the step that led to the raised platform and the bed that lay on atop it.  She followed his gaze to find it was roughly aimed at the pillows and the restraints, but she was fairly certain that was not what he saw.</p>
<p>She opened her mouth to prompt him, to coax him into telling her what was wrong, but found it was unnecessary.  He still stared straight ahead, but she knew it was her that he addressed when he whispered, “I can’t.”</p>
<p>“No restraints,” she instantly soothed.  He had gone down to locking only one arm in long before his abduction whenever she was over, and they had done the same during his recovery.  She had found that her voice and her touch were usually enough to break him free of any nightmares.  She had also found she’d know if it was going to work in roughly the first 30 seconds so she knew when to back away if needed, which is the only reason he let her still sleep next to him some nights.</p>
<p>“I…” he started, but couldn’t finish.  His breath came in a wheeze and she knew he was on the cusp of a panic attack.  She stepped between him and the view, laid her hands lightly against the curve of his jaw until his eyes flickered towards her for the briefest of seconds before they returned to the bed again, this time far more focused.  “I don’t know if I can sleep here,” he admitted.</p>
<p>The bed, the sheets, the comforter, the view to the night and street below them, and even the ambient noise were all things that he had not had during recovery and were all things damned near identical to the night he had been taken.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was setting him off.</p>
<p>“Guest room?” she suggested, the barest movement of her eyes towards the steps and the room that resided up there along with his office.  “Different bed, different sheets.  View will be close, but the room itself will be different.”</p>
<p>He visibly flinched at the offer.  A breath and a fortifying swallow later, and he offered a meek, “We can try, but no promises.”</p>
<p>She nodded immediately.  “No promises because none are needed,” she insisted.  “Doesn’t work, we take the couch.  That doesn’t work, we get a hotel because I know your mom would offer her place but you know she’d make it far more of a long term thing than either of us are comfortable with.”</p>
<p>The words did what she had hoped they would and she watched as the very corner of his lips twitched upwards at the admission and a whole lot more life seeped into the pale eyes she loved so much.</p>
<p>As tired as she was, she didn’t really sleep that night.  She laid beside him and watched how he tensed at every little noise, almost as much as he had when they first got him back.  She must have eventually drifted off as she woke to the sun poking through the blinds with a decidedly empty spot on the bed beside her.  A quick search found Malcolm hunched over a laptop in his office, the circles under his eyes indicating he’d gotten even less rest than she had.  There was a cup of coffee and a protein bar at his side, which she took as a win.  She figured it would have been straight up candy, but most of that had been removed from the place before their arrival or consumed the prior night after an elicit delivery.</p>
<p>She padded in and curled up in one of the overstuffed armchairs tucked into the corner of the room.  “Whatcha doing?” she asked around a yawn.  She pulled her curls back and away from her face, only for them to bounce right back into riotous place when she released them.  Privacy was something he hadn’t had a lot of during his captivity, and she refused to look at the screen without his permission, no matter how curious she was at the given moment.</p>
<p>“Debating,” he replied.  He leaned back in his own chair and stretched before he darted a glance over to her.  He offered an apologetic wince when she yawned again, but she waved him off.  If she had truly been bothered by his sleep habits, they never would have lasted as long as they had together.  At her prompting, he elaborated on his single word answer though, and said, “I’m trying to figure out what would be best: one of the other properties owned by my mother, or something bought solely with my own funds that I could lock her out of with minimal guilt.”</p>
<p>“What kind of property?” she asked, though she already had an inkling of his thought process.</p>
<p>“Residential,” he replied, head hung low as if looking at the screen again.  When he dared to glance up, there was the faintest gleam of hope in his eyes and she would be damned if she was going to dash that.  He must have read that in her expression as his own lit up far greater than it had before, the emotion nearly rolling off of him in waves.  “I figured it would be a prime time to look into if not purchase now, especially since we were just talking about you moving in anyway and the loft isn’t really set up for a nursery and all those steps carrying strollers and car seats and…  okay, yeah, some of this is the undying and overwhelming sense of terror that enveloped me last night at the mere contemplation of sleeping down there again and…”</p>
<p>She held up a hand to stop his babble.  “You want us to move in together, to a new place, that’s baby-ready?” she summarized, knowing well enough not to mention the terror aspect.</p>
<p>He bit his lip but nodded readily enough.  “Before you’re too big that it’s uncomfortable because we both know you’d insist on moving your own stuff and before I go completely insane from sleep deprivation, yes,” he confirmed.</p>
<p>She ignored the size comment as that was her own less than little insecurity at the moment.  Their child was growing, and she was growing with it.  Rapidly.  To the point her favorite sleep shirt was a little too tight to be comfortable, if she was honest.  He was right about her insisting on helping with the move, even though she knew JT would possibly bodily hold her down to stop her from carrying anything heavier than a pillow.  “And this new place?” she prompted.</p>
<p>“Would be ours.  Together.  For us.  All of us.  Not mine.  Not yours.  Ours.”</p>
<p>He turned the screen towards her as if she could truly see if from where she was.  He noticed the error immediately, and stood up to shuffle over to her before she could stop him, laptop in hand.  He balanced on the arm of the chair beside her and she tried to discreetly prop up both him and the computer while she looked at what he had found.</p>
<p>There were two documents pulled up side by side.  The first was a list of roughly a dozen residential properties demarcated between being owned by Mrs. Jessica Whitly or on the market.  The second was a map with four such properties circled.  The brat had already redacted the prices, likely so that she wouldn’t freak out even though she knew he was richer than he let on and that was saying a lot.  Of the four, all were in affluent areas but also suspiciously near both the precinct and quick transit to her own family.  He seemed less concerned with type versus location, as she spotted two townhomes, a stand alone home with a large backyard neither of them would know how to take care of without hiring someone, and a loft in a high-security building replete with elevator access and greenspace nearby.</p>
<p>“We would need to see them, tour them, to know if they are right for us more than just a picture,” she warned.  She was due back from her leave in three days, and was wary of extending it or taking extra time off with her maternity leave right around the corner even though she knew Gil would grant it in a heartbeat.  From her experience finding a place of her own years ago, setting up a viewing in that timeframe was going to be difficult at best and she assumed it would be worse for the higher end of the market.  She couldn’t even guarantee they’d have a free weekend over the next few weeks given the nature of their jobs.</p>
<p>“I’ll call our realtor,” he announced, seemingly ready to do so at that precise moment.  “We can look at these four today and others tomorrow if they don’t pan out?”</p>
<p>She blinked, and then remembered she was dealing with the Whitly’s.  Of course the process could be expedited if required.  “Did you want me to book a hotel room for the night?” she offered to cover for her surprise.</p>
<p>“I did manage an hour and a half last night,” he defended himself with.  It was immediately followed by, “But we might want one on standby?  I will try to sleep in the guest room again, but I really don’t think I can manage downstairs anytime soon.”</p>
<p>“We’ll figure something out,” she told him.  It was as much of a promise as she could make at the moment, and they both knew it.  His recovery would take time, all aspects of it.  </p>
<p>She made him a deal that he was to close his eyes and meditate if not actually sleep while she bathed and got a real meal going for them both.  Jessica would send someone to remove the worst of the cameras that day and she would rate wherever they toured on security as well as comfort.  She would have liked to rate it on price as well, but knew that at least was out of her hands.  Instead, she decided to embrace the ridiculous Whitly lifestyle enough to think up new bedding and bedroom layouts amongst other things, knowing that she could have the linens delivered before her leave was up if nothing else.  Faster, if she involved Ainsley.</p>
<p>There was comfort in the familiar but, sometimes, the comfort came from change in that familiar as well.  Hopefully they would find the right balance of both.  She swore she felt their kid shift within just then even though it was probably too early, as if to emphasize the whole change aspect barreling their way whether they liked it or not.  </p>
<p>“We’ll get there,” she promised both the child and herself.  “It might involve a lot of ice cream, and maybe more bacon, but we can do it.”</p>
<p>She idly tugged on the necklace JT had given her right before they left the hospital.  It was a small stone carved to look like an Egyptian scarab because he was a smartass like that.  She had asked why he had given it to her versus Bright himself and received the reply of, “Because he already is one.”</p>
<p>She decided to see it as a sign of what they had overcome to get this far, and not to think of it as a portent of what still lie ahead.  With all the uncertainty that surrounded life – and seemingly their lives more than others – there was one thing she now knew would never change: she was not alone.  She had friends and an ever-growing family there beside her.  Now if she could just convince the living and thankfully breathing version of that sign of the same.</p>
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